


Merry Christmas, Jaskier

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Geraskier, M/M, Modern AU, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Witcher Secret Santa, geralt x jaskier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28289739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Jaskier makes some Christmas magic happen for a grumpy Witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47
Collections: The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	Merry Christmas, Jaskier

Christmas.

For years, Christmas had meant:

-His shitty apartment above Roach’s stable. 

-Christmas TV. 

-Waking up alone, usually hungover. 

-Scouring the usual boards for bail bondsman work. Finding some, jumping in the car. Dragging a criminal into an empty lock-up manned by one surly cop.

-Or finding no work, getting antsy, and going for a hike, for something to do.

It’d been..... Lonely.

But for the _first_ time - things would be different.

For the first time since they’d..... gotten together, Jaskier was coming for Christmas.

* * *

Geralt leaned against the kitchen doorway of his new apartment (much less shitty than the previous one, with an _adjoining_ stable) and watched with amusement as Jaskier carted the sixth box into the living room.

A room that Jask lit up even when he was’t here. He’d set up photos of the two of them - everything from their first night out together, when Jaskier had presented a non-plussed Geralt with a faux-distressed _Jaskier and the Dandelions UK Tour 2019_ t-shirt, to last month when they’d toured the London Winter Wonderland together and Jaskier had tugged them both into one of those tourist-trap photobooths.

Geralt would never admit it out loud but that picture was his favourite.

“And what’s in _this_ one?”

Jaskier tossed a look over his shoulder. “Lights.”

“That’s what you said about the second box.”

“Different sort of lights, Geralt. Gods, you really haven’t had Christmas for years, have you? Poor baby.” He set the box down and crossed the room to Geralt, cupping his face and kissing him square on the mouth.

Geralt scowled.

Jaskier grinned. “That’s better.” He patted Geralt’s cheek and then went back to the boxes, bending over at an angle that absolutely flattered his ass.

Geralt sighed.

Over the next forty minutes, Geralt admired the view as Jaskier erected a six foot tree from a box.

“Need a hand?”

“No. _No,_ ” Jaskier repeated when Geralt tried to help. “Let me give you this, Geralt. Enjoy it. Let someone do something nice for you.”

“Oh, because you never do nice things for me,” Geralt drawled.

Jaskier just sent him a winning grin, and so, as usual, Geralt let the bard have his way.

What a musician like Jaskier, who regularly sold out stadiums, wanted with a tired bail bondsman with him was anyone’s guess, but Geralt had learned not to question it. With the force that was Jaskier, you didn’t prepare.You simply strapped in for the ride.

The tree glittered with tiny pinprick lights in soft gold. The branches might have been plastic, but with that diffused lighting, the artfully arranged pine cones and dried orange slices - where the _fuck_ did Jask get this crap? - and ribbons and snowflakes, hell if it didn’t look right out of the forest.

Jaskier leaned up on his tip-toes to place a wooden star covered in glitter and who else knew what on the top of the tree, then paused.

“Would you like to do it?”

“Do what.”

“Put the star on. Come on Geralt, were you born or did you crawl out from under a rock?”

Geralt sighed, crossed the room to the tree that was very nearly as tall as him. “Okay. Give it here.”

“Wait, I want to document this. For posterity.”

“I’ll give you posterity.” Geralt held out his hand. “Give. It. Here.”

Jaskier held up a finger. “Wait, you big grumpy bear.” He tugged his iPhone from his pocket and flipped the camera on, then placed the star in Geralt’s palm. “Ready.”

Geralt stepped forward and, without having to stretch at all, placed the star on the top two, sticky-up branches of the tree, and then looked at the camera.

“Smile then!” Jaskier groused.

Geralt smiled obediently.

“Now what do we do?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Jaskier slid his phone back in the pocket of his charmingly distressed jeans. Why he paid top dollar to have someone else artfully rip his jeans, Geralt would never understand. “Now we eat mince pies and look at the twinkling lights.”

Geralt dropped on the enormous leather sofa (his choice, Jaskier would have plumped for velvet) just as the bard swept out of the kitchen area with a silver platter bearing two mince pies dusted with sugar.

“Sweet mince,” Geralt said doubtfully.

“I repeat. Have you been living under a rock? Try it, you’ll like it.” He dropped down next to Geralt and lifted a pie to the bondsman’s lips. “Go on.”

Taking a bite, Geralt found himself smiling as the sweet and tart flavours of the seasonal treat exploded on his tongue. The pastry was buttery and crumbly and he took another bite from Jaskier’s hands as soon as he could.

The tree twinkled by the big window of his apartment, he had delicious pie in his mouth and the man he loved at his side.

This Christmas was shaping up to be something very special indeed.

***************

Later that evening, they stretched out on the same sofa (Jaskier had become accustomed to it, it was _great_ for naps), watching _Love, Actually._

“Every year I hope that Alan Rickman won’t cheat on Emma Thompson,” Jaskier sighed, his head pillowed on Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt grunted, hoping this would be a sufficient response.

“But every year he does.”

“Why do you still watch it?”

Jaskier snuggled into Geralt, tugging the throw over them both. “Hope.”

“Seems pointless.”

“You _would_ say that. But _I_ believe in love. And thank Christ! If you’d been left to your own devices we wouldn’t be here.”

Damn if that didn’t strike a nugget of outlandish fear into Geralt’s heart. He actually shuddered. A little.

“Fortunate that you took the initiative, then.”

“Very fortunate,” Jaskier said cheekily, playfully drilling a finger into Geralt’s chest. “I could be anywhere in the world tonight, you know. Strumming my lute in Venice, on the Rialto bridge, playing to a full house at the Globe, winking at supermodels in Cannes-”

“I know,” Geralt murmured, and he ignored the TV and pulled the bard close, nuzzling his soft, chocolate brown hair. “I know. And it beggars belief - to me anyway - that you’re here. But now that you are, I never want you to leave.”

Jaskier sighed happily.

Then he squeaked, and sat up. “Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

“I’ve never heard you say that many words in one go! Will you say some more?”

A low chuckle escaped the bondsman’s lips. “What would you like me to say?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You doofus. How about, Merry Christmas, Jaskier?”

Everything settled inside Geralt. A warmth filled his chest and he dropped a kiss on Jaskier’s head. “Merry Christmas, Jaskier.”


End file.
